


I Was Thursday’s Child

by MashiarasDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Close to Canon, Dean is much more thoughtful than Cas gives him credit for, Depression, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Some angst, depressed!cas, human!Cas, pov Cas, they are not using their words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21991645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream/pseuds/MashiarasDream
Summary: Thursdays have been particularly hard for Cas ever since he fell completely and became human. They are the days he feels extra-useless. Up until one particular day, when Dean annoys Cas long enough to figure out the problem.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 188





	I Was Thursday’s Child

**Author's Note:**

> How did that even happen? I haven’t watched the show in three seasons. But here we go, canon-close (current canon nonetheless) angsty Destiel for the end of the year.
> 
> PS: This is unbetaed. If you find any egragious mistakes, let me know. If it's just missing commas, please overlook.

“Cas? Your burger’s growing cold!” Dean bellows it the moment his feet leave the concrete of the bunker doorstep. He sounds annoyed. 

For a heartbeat, Cas considers whether he can dodge him. He was a master strategist once. He’s led whole armies. But now, all the thought does is make his limbs heavier, because it reminds him that he in fact has a heartbeat now and that he has to make sure he keeps that heart beating. He has no idea where he’ll end up when the rhythm inside him stops, is not sure whether his deal with the Empty is still on now that he’s human, but he’s not exactly eager to find out. 

“Cas! Burgers!” Dean’s feet stop next to him.

Of course he got too tangled in his thoughts to even manage to move an inch, let alone avoid Dean. 

“Thank you, Dean. But I’m not hungry. You can have my burger.”

Dean mumbles something angry that Cas is pretty sure involves the words  _ ungrateful assholes _ , so he guesses Sam is out with Eileen and also not eating burgers with Dean. But instead of stomping away as he expects him to do, Dean lets himself fall heavily to the ground next to Cas. 

Cas doesn’t flinch. Not at Dean’s blunder. Not at his sudden closeness. Not even at the arm brushing his. He’s almost proud of that. Oh, he’s not afraid of Dean. They’ve come close enough to killing each other often enough that it seems abundantly clear that neither of them will go through with it. 

It’s just that Cas is still not used to the volume. Even small bits of grace had sheltered him from the full human experience. Now that even those bits are gone everything is too loud, too bright, too close. Everything is stark and naked, the contrast too bright, the colors gaudy. It seems like a horror show more than anything. 

Dean would laugh, Cas guesses, if he told him. Would answer with something like,  _ ‘yeah, real life’s a horror show, better get used to it _ ’.

The Dean next to him doesn’t laugh. He’s also not shouting anymore, which Cas is grateful for. 

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” he demands instead. 

“No,” Cas answers, treating it like an actual question.

“Okay. Can’t make you if you don’t wanna.” 

He’s giving up much faster than expected, so Cas thinks it might have been enough to make Dean go away. But of course he’s not that lucky. Dean stays where he is. 

“Your burger is getting cold,” Cas reminds him. 

“Guess that’s true,” Dean agrees peacefully.

It’s not what Cas expected. Dean is angry almost constantly these days. He should be angry now.

“We could plant some stuff. Flowers and shit. If you want.”

Cas turns to Dean after all. “What for?” he asks. Dean has to his knowledge never shown a propensity for gardening. 

“Cause you like it, asshole, that’s why,” Dean mutters, blush creeping up his neck. 

Curious. 

“In that case, thank you for the offer but it’s not necessary.”

“Just like the burgers or anything else I do.” It’s said so low on an exhale that Cas isn’t sure he’s supposed to hear. He is pretty sure though that he has finally exhausted Dean’s patience. 

“Maybe it would be better if I left for a while,” Cas offers. 

They’ve been at this point before, too. Dean throwing him out, Cas volunteering to go, they’ve done it all. At some point or another, the universe has a knack of throwing them back together whether they want it or not, but that doesn’t mean Cas can’t give Dean the break he needs. 

“Seems like a waste of effort at this point. Never sticks,” Dean answers his thoughts. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas replies quietly. “I can try to do better.” Though he doesn’t really know how.

“‘S that important to you to leave, huh?” The aggression has crept back into Dean’s voice. He clears his throat. His tone has changed when he starts anew. “D’you think it would be better somewhere else?”

It doesn’t sound sarcastic like Cas has expected. He tilts his head, frowning at Dean as he tries to puzzle this out. “What do you mean?”

Dean coughs again, shifting where he sits, uneasy under the scrutiny. “Sam says you’re depressed. I - I don’t know. I’m not good with that kind of shit. But I have eyes. I know you’re unhappy. So, would somewhere else be better?” 

Cas almost laughs. Dean Winchester trying to process feelings that aren’t anger is always a little laughable. It’s more likely that Dean will choke than that anything gets resolved. Still, “I don’t know,” Cas says honestly. “I can try it out if you want.”

“‘S not about what I want, Cas.”

This time, Cas actually laughs, though the sound holds no mirth. “It never is.” They somehow still all always end up doing what Dean wants. 

“Dammit, Cas, I’m trying,” Dean growls.

It prompts Cas to laugh at him some more. 

“It’s worse on Thursdays, isn’t it?” 

Cas stops laughing as abruptly as he had started. 

“Every other day you eat some at least. But Thursdays…” Dean shakes his head. 

“I don’t need…”

“You’re human, Cas! You  _ do  _ in fact need to eat.” 

The anger is back but it’s tinged with so much worry that Cas can literally taste it. It tastes metallic and sweet like blood. It makes him feel inexplicably guilty. Dean is not a nice person by rather large margins but that doesn’t mean Cas likes being the one who upsets him. 

“Wanna tell me what that Thursday thing is about?” Dean asks. He makes his voice calm and soothing, a tone he reserves for victims in a case. 

Only Cas is no victim. Cas brought everything that happened to him on himself. “Don’t,” he warns Dean. 

“Or what? You’re gonna whoop my ass?” Dean shakes his head. “Hate to tell you, man, but your sorry ass ain’t gonna whoop no one unless you start feeding yourself better.”

Which, as much as it rankles, is probably not untrue. 

“Thursdays,” Dean reminds him. 

The way he says it, Cas is sure, “You already know the answer.”

“You miss being an angel,” Dean says point blank.

Cas nods. 

“And Thursdays were your days so that’s when you miss it the most.” 

It’s both true and wrong at the same time. There are so very many things he doesn’t miss about being an angel. But, “I miss being able to make Thursdays better,” he confesses. 

“What do you mean?” Dean asks. 

Cas turns his head away. It is silly, really, and he has no doubt that Dean will see it the same way. Or he might get angry again. It doesn’t take much after all. And what Cas had done was definitely a waste of his powers. At least where it concerns the Winchesters. He doesn’t think his power was wasted otherwise. “I used to -,” he starts feebly and breaks off again.

“Yeah?” Dean encourages him to keep going. 

“I still felt - kinship to Thursday I guess. I was its guardian for so long.” He puts a hand on the ground, the soil dry and crumbly. It’s not quite warm beneath his fingers, spring still a while off. “So I took a little of what was left of my powers and - made it better.”

Dean frowns at him. “You saying you zapped around and healed people on Thursdays?” 

Cas makes himself smaller.  _ Zapping  _ has not been an option in so long. He misses his wings. They were once his greatest pride. Dean has never seen them of course. Or no more than a shadow of their might. Cas had been cocky, oh so cocky in that barn a lifetime ago. 

He shakes his head at himself. He keeps thinking of it like it was a lifetime ago when he met Dean. Like the millennia before never even mattered. 

Before he can let that thought catch a hold, he nods. “Yes. In its principle, that’s what I did.”

“Huh.” Dean frowns some more but at least he’s not shouting or lecturing Cas on how his powers could have been used better. “So now you’re upset because you’re stuck sitting around not healing people?”

Cas crumbles some dirt between his fingers. He’s heard it in a much more vitriolic tone before, that he’s useless now. Sam’s eyes always go big and pleading after Dean says something like this. Sam wants Dean to show Cas mercy where Cas doesn’t want it for himself. He was a soldier for such a long time. Even if nothing else is left of it, he is still not so weak that he can’t take the truth. 

“Yes,” he answers simply. 

Dean nods contemplatively before taking a decisive breath. “Come on.” He jumps up.

“Dean, I really…”

“Don’t want my burgers. Got it. It’s not where we’re going anyway. Come on. You can keep brooding later.”

Dean refrains from bodily dragging Cas up but Cas thinks it’s a close thing because Dean is suddenly vibrating with energy. Cas watches it warily, but he figures he doesn’t have much choice. So he follows behind Dean, who goes back to the bunker but walks by the burgers on the table in favor of getting his jacket and car keys. 

“C’mon,” he encourages Cas again. The fact that he doesn’t shout towards the back of the bunker that they’re going means that Sam is indeed out, Cas guesses. 

Dean doesn’t elaborate, where they’re going, not even when they’re in the car. They’re driving towards the city, rock music at an acceptable volume, Dean drumming on the steering wheel in tune. He seems tense, but not in an overly bad mood. 

“Where are we going?” Cas dares to ask.

“You’ll see,” Dean gives him a half-smile. “Gotta make a pitstop first, though.”

Cas thinks about asking Dean whether whatever destination they have is one where he’ll take Cas back home from after, but the words don’t want to leave his lips. He’ll deal with it either way. He always does. 

The pitstop turns out to be the grocery store. Dean nudges at him until Cas follows along. Dean actually whistles as he pushes their cart down the aisles. What he’s buying is not his usual fare, though. Large quantities of bread and cheese spread are one thing, but it’s followed by equally large quantities of pasta, then beans, then potatoes, then an assortment of vegetables and finally milk and orange juice. 

They are all very sensible products but Cas doesn’t think any of Dean’s staple dishes use all of these. His confusion doesn’t get any less when Dean swipes by the toiletry aisle and puts toothbrushes, toothpaste, single use razors and female hygiene products into the cart. 

“We could do blankets and sleeping bags, but I think we’d have to do an extra run.”

Cas nods confusedly but Dean is already moving on. 

They have four large bags when they’re finally checking out, Dean flashing the lady at the cash desk his best grin and one of their patented Winchester credit cards. His smile stumbles for a moment. “We should do this more. We can afford it after all,” he frowns. But then she shrugs and they’re off again.

Dean steers the Impala away from their usual city route, into a quieter quarter. The streets become more run-down and so do the buildings. The trees look sparse in winter everywhere but here they look desperate. 

Dean stops in front of a large building, finding a parking spot that is reasonably well-lit.

Cas is frozen in his seat. He knows where they are. He’s been here before. Or, not here, but in a place like this. He knows his expression is pleading when he looks at Dean. He doesn’t want this. If he leaves, he wants to leave on his own terms. Take his car and drive off. He doesn’t want to be deposited here. 

“You wanted to help. Make Thursday a little better, right?” Dean asks.

Cas nods, so miniscule that he’s not sure the movement is there. He had. He still does. Does doing this make the day better for Dean? Is that why he’s doing it? But Cas would have left on his own. 

“Well, come on then, let’s do some good,” Dean smiles at him, and then he’s out of the car. 

Cas sits frozen for another long moment before he can make his legs move. 

Dean already has the bags unloaded by the time Cas has managed to unfold himself from his seat. He lets a hand glide over the leather of the Impala before he lets the door fall shut. He’s always liked the feel of the leather.

“Here,” Dean pushes two of the bags into Cas’ hands before striding towards the entrance. 

Cas follows like he always follows Dean.

There is no one at the reception. There is a small bell on the crowded counter but Dean ignores it. 

“Marge! Hey, Marge!” He bellows. 

For a moment, there is no reaction. Then an elderly black woman pokes her head out of an office towards the back. 

“What’d’ya’want?” 

Dean turns to her. “Donation,” he says and holds up the bags. 

“Marge!” She shouts further back into the house. “Someone’s got donations!” 

Dean chuckles but waits patiently. 

It only takes a couple of minutes before a harried looking woman hurries their way. Her curly hair is cut so short that it can’t be longer than an inch, and her careful make-up and fashionable dress are somewhat at odds with her comfortable sneakers and large steps. 

She starts grinning when she’s finally close enough that she can make out their features against the back light. 

“Well, if that isn’t Dean Winchester! And friend?” She opens her arms for a hug that Dean doesn’t hesitate to step into. 

“Marge! Good to see you!” Dean’s grin turns into something more serious, more like one of his actual smiles. “My friend is called Cas by the way, and he’s the reason we’re here today.”

“Oh, is he?” Marge turns to him with a curious gaze and an outstretched hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” Cas mumbles and takes her hand, though his eyes flit back to Dean. 

“Yep,” Dean answers Marge’s question. “He was bummed cause he was stuck at the house with me instead of getting to do some good. So I took him out to do some good.” He puts the bags that had been standing at his feet up on the counter. 

Marge’s smile widens as she looks through them. “Gotta say, Dean, if this is your idea of a date, you should take your fella on dates more often. I have a list of things that we need.”

Dean grins back at her though his eyes now hold pain. “Not sure it counts as a date but you know what, let me give you my email address, you email me that list and I’ll see what I can do. You got a piece of paper?” 

Cas would take it as a flirtation, Dean giving out his email address, only there is bright gold sparkling against the dark skin of Marge’s ring finger, and Dean doesn’t sound like he usually does when he is flirting, either. Instead, he’s all business when writing down his address before turning back to Cas and throwing him a smile. 

“What’d’ya say, Cas? Wanna help feed people on Thursdays? We can make this a regular thing.”

It’s only then that Cas understands. That it sinks in why they are here. That it is not because Cas is homeless again. That it is because he told Dean that he wanted to help and Dean granted his wish. 

He clears his throat, suddenly unable to speak. He waits for the tightness in his chest to pass, Dean and Marge waiting him out as well. When he finally feels like he has enough air again to speak, he turns to Marge. “Do you need help in the kitchen as well? Or just donations?” 

She chuckles. “Don’t want the date to end, huh?” She winks at him. “Dolly!” she shouts into the hallway towards where the elderly lady had been. “I’ve got volunteers! They’re bringing their own vegetables!”

“Tell ‘em to wash their hands!” 

Marge chuckles and gestures at them to follow her. “Come on through.”

She makes sure that they wash their hands, gives them aprons and plastic gloves and then sets them to work under the supervision of a guy named Tony. 

Dean is much better at this than Cas is, his hands faster when cutting vegetables and his demeanor so friendly and open that people start joking and laughing with him in no time. Cas, in the meantime, is quiet. He makes sure to peel the potatoes completely and cut them into even slices, and is otherwise content to watch. 

It is fascinating to him, seeing Dean relax into his surroundings. In the beginnings, the jovial tone is an act. A well-honed one, a mask so tight-fitting that it might as well be skin, but still an act. But gradually, Dean’s laugh becomes deeper, his belly quivering with it and Cas knows that he actually enjoys this. It is almost strange to see. He is so used to Dean being angry. 

“You okay there, man?” Dean asks, breaking Cas out of his thoughts and catching him staring. 

That’s probably not good, but right this second Cas can’t bring himself to care. “I am,” he nods. “Thank you for this, Dean.”

Dean grins, a wide and open smile that shows teeth. “Was a good idea you had there.”

Cas doesn’t correct him that it wasn’t his idea, he just smiles some more and then goes back to cutting. 

They stay until dinner, eating a bowl each of the potato soup they’ve helped make. It tastes better than food has tasted in quite a while and it tastes even better still when Cas looks how the drawn, hungry faces in the line turn into faces of momentary content when empty stomachs are filled with hot soup. 

It’s not much. It’s not enough. But he’d never been able to heal everyone like he wanted to. And this, this is more than he’s been able to do in a while. It fills him with a warmth that he’s entirely been missing. 

So it’s no wonder that he’s still smiling when Dean turns to him. “Ready to go home?”

Cas nods. He is.

“Let’s go then,” Dean smiles back. 

And if Cas catches Dean’s hand and holds it fast all the way to the Impala, no one ever has to know. 


End file.
